


Devoted Boy

by settely



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Ending, Anders Being an Asshole, Anders Lives, Anders is a dick, BAMF Anders, BAMF Women, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Bashing, Character Study, Conflict of Interests, Declarations Of Love, Depression, Established Relationship, Everyone Has Issues, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Exhaustion, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Character In Command, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Fenris Has Issues, Fenris Needs a Hug, Hawke Being an Asshole, Hawke is Badass, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, Jealous Fenris (Dragon Age), Jealousy, Love Triangles, Male-Female Friendship, Men Crying, No Spoilers, On the Run, POV Fenris, Post-Dragon Age II, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Redemption, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romantic Gestures, Slave Trade, Slavery, Snarky Hawke, So Wrong It's Right, Strong Female Characters, Strong Woman/Weak Man, Tevinter Imperium, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tragedy, Unrequited Love, What-If, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/settely/pseuds/settely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Gallows, Hawke and Fenris have to run. But wounded, abandoned and having nowhere to go, what will happen to them, now that Kirkwall lays in ruins? Will they be able to outrun everyone that wants to hurt them or will they have to succumb to a world torn apart by hatred and madness?  </p><p>And Fenris, how much is he actually willing to sacrifice for the life he finally has?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Devil Looks After His Own

**Author's Note:**

> Fenris centered, set immediately after the battle at the Gallows and no spoilers for Inquisition - haven't played it yet. Meant as a character study and a glimpse into what has become of both Fenris and Anders after knowing Hawke for so long. I will probably try to update it every two weeks as I want to start writing more compelling, lengthier chapters than ever before. 
> 
> Please, read and review. I appreciate all criticism, comments and suggestions :) Enjoy!

  1. **_The Devil Looks After His Own_**



The battle had been won, he thought to himself, they needed to flee now.

 

Fenris looked at Hawke for a long moment, her face engulfed in the crook of his neck and her breath ghosting over his skin. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes, fingers smudging sweat and blood on her already dirty forehead. They were still at the mansion, slumped together over one of the benches in the hallway where they collapsed immediately after returning from the Gallows.

Hawke's clothing was in tatters, and Fenris risked a guess that his was in no better condition. The night was welcomingly warm though, and their huddled together bodies kept the heat. He had discarded his gauntlets just before falling asleep and now flexed his fingers, the torch dimly reflecting off the fingernails and Hawke's daggers that laid discarded at their feet. It was a different sensation altogether not to hear the metal screech after all of the hours of fighting. Blood was splattered across most of his fingers, small cuts scattered here and there, nails all but dark circles filled with a mixture of dirt and sweat.

Blood was also caked at the side of his head, flaking, as he scratched at one of his ears. His back was stiff as a board, bones stirring as he tried to stretch without jostling Hawke; the wood creaked audibly upon his movement. Hawke whimpered at the noise, her arm encircling his shoulder flexing and head twisting to the side, as if following a trail down his chest. Fenris lulled, hugging her back, his own arm closing gently round her bruised ribcage, and even if he squirmed a bit at the tightness of the embrace, he still returned it. The road ahead was long and cumbersome, but he was coping, he was getting better at touching and sharing, and holding, and not breaking. It was a long road ahead, but he had already begun it, it was alright.

"It's alright," he repeated out loud, reaching out for her other hand, the one closed in a twitching fist in her lap. She still had her gloves on, scratch after scratch etched into the glowing metal. He entwined their fingers, the soft under-padding closing around his flesh. Their hands were identical in size, he thought bemusedly. "It's alright now."

He did not know how much time they sat there, under a solitary lit lantern in the entryway. Hawke slept but he could not close his eyes for more than a moment, the smallest rustle had him grab the hilt of his sheathed sword. The building was still filled with ghosts, so many ghost but they were harmless, none of them could possess more than a speck of dust, none of them could twist the flesh of the living or the dead. None of them wanted their heads on a platter. Hawke was sleeping a pitiful sleep, twisting and turning, murmuring and huffing, and Fenris held her close, doubled over the weight of her shoulders and the clacking armour of the Champion. It was alright however, it was much more than alright.

 

There came a knocking at the door at some point through the night, gentle tapping Fenris did not hear at first. He was staring with unseeing eyes at a dying flame of the torch, idly smoothing a hand through Hawke's hair when he saw the doors moving open just the tiniest bit, moonlight illuminating a shaky path on the cobblestones of the foyer. He froze in place, eyes glued to the shakily growing splotch of light. Then, keeping a steady arm round Hawke's midriff, he turned his whole body downwards towards her daggers at their feet.

"Hawke? Hawke, are you in here?" came a hushed call then, little more than a hoarse whisper. The door came to a stop, the light shakily illuminating a blob of stones a few metres from Fenris and Hawke's feet. The torch opposite them had nearly gone out, luckily leaving them in the shadows. The person on the other side of door seemed to have paused, as if gathering their wits about them. After a moment, they called again, even more quietly this time, "Fenris? Fenris, are you two in here?"

Fenris thought he recognised the voice even if it was muffled and hushed. He held up Hawke more securely against himself, her head lolling onto his shoulder limply. He had his other hand at the hilt of one of the daggers, ready to draw it as the door started coming ajar once more and finally a hunched silhouette stood in it, clad in feathers and tattered robes.

"Oh, thank the Maker" Anders breathed at the sight of them, illuminated by the moon, and slumped heavily against the doorframe. He clutched his staff, and using it as a walking stick, started to limp towards their bench; he quickly came to a stop as Fenris levered the dagger at him.

"What do you want from us, mage?" he asked, squinting up at him. The blade glistened in the moonlight as Anders stood there, silently sizing them up. Fenris didn't like not being able to see his face clearly, the light of the moon coming from behind his back, obscuring the man's features. Suddenly Hawke whimpered pitifully, snuggling closer into his side, and Anders' body went out slightly towards her, hand not preoccupied with the staff outstretching involuntarily. Fenris barred his teeth at that, twisting them both away from the man, and pointed the dagger at the offending hand, "I said, what do you want? Have we not done more than enough for your cause today?"

Anders seemed to be still staring at Hawke, Fenris could not be sure, when his shoulders slumped further and he rested his full weight on the staff, the wood creaking audibly. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the foyer like that for a moment. "I wanted to make sure she was safe," he said finally, choosing his words carefully. He adjusted one of his broken shoulder pads, feathers rustling, "and you as well, believe it or not."

"How awfully kind" Fenris answered drily, not taking his gaze off the man. There was something decidedly disturbing in the way Anders just stood there, before the dagger, bleeding mutely from his wounds. As his eyes adjusted after a while to the brightness of the moonlight, he saw that the man was actually in a way worse condition than either of them; ironic, considering how their kind was supposed to fight from the side-lines. Blood was trickling down Anders' temple, there were long gushes along both of his arms and his knee seemed to have been busted if the limp was any indication of the true wound. His tunic was soaked with blood at the outline of one of his thighs.

"Your leg has been shot through" Fenris stated rather than asked, gesturing with the dagger at the dark stain. The man glanced at him, nodding. "Why have you not healed yourself?"

"I can't" Anders muttered, turning his eyes to the stone floor. Fenris stared at him, his hold on Hawke tensing. What was the mage blabbering on about this time? What did he mean that he could not heal his own wounds, he had been casting fireballs all evening today, for Maker's sake? Cold sweat broke at the base of Fenris' neck and he felt all blood drain from his face, as endless possible explanations started to race through his mind, each worse than the other. He swept a wild gaze over Anders, looking for most obvious weaknesses. Busted knee, bruised joints, and possible concussion judging by the constant trickle of blood down his cheek. Okay, he could do this, he could definitely do this even despite his own wounds. Not with his sword, the daggers would have to do.

He started to settle Hawke gently against the bench, untangling his arm and legs from hers, and setting his feet so that he could grab the other dagger quickly enough, when Anders sighed and gazed right into his eyes. He suddenly looked at least twenty years older than normally.

"I deserved it. All of it. I should have died" Anders muttered, and Fenris felt himself let out a breath he was not aware he had been holding the whole time. The man continued, his voice weary, "and Hawke should have killed me back in that alley. We both know that."

He lowered the dagger slightly as Anders sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"A rather melodramatic way to state the obvious, I suppose" Fenris said, trying to sound lighter than he actually felt; his stomach was filled with lead. He found Hawke's sweaty hand and held it with his free one clumsily, trying to stop his shaking. "but I still do not see why you are here." He continued angrily, his glare becoming steely, "Hawke is wounded and you will not disturb her with this nonsensical blabbering of yours, so why are you here again?"

"Is it that bad? May I have a look?" Anders hobbled a few steps forward, the staff making a dull thudding noise in the empty hall. The dagger was now brushing the front of his tattered robes, pointing directly at his stomach but the man seemed to have forgotten about the threat as soon as Fenris spoke of Hawke's state.

"No, and stay back."

"I'm the only one here who is a qualified medic for Andraste's sake, quit being childish!"

"I said, stay back!" Fenris snarled in reply, stabbing the air in front of him, and Anders had to evade the blade, and finally scrunched back a bit. He looked furious but did not say anything. They stared at each other for a long moment in silence, only Hawke's laboured breathing preventing the room from being completely still. After another moment Fenris sighed, leaned back and put the dagger away down by his feet, gathered Hawke into his arms and moved her so that her head was in his lap. He smoothed some unruly hair from her face and motioned for Anders to come closer.

"Some of her ribs are cracked or at least bruised, I am not sure" Fenris explained, unbuckling her chest piece, trying not to jostle Hawke too much, "I am most concerned about her stomach, she must have been stabbed a few times in the same place, just where her armour has a crease-" Anders looked on, an unreadable expression on his face as Fenris undid strap after strap, trying to lull weakly protesting Hawke gently back into deeper sleep; finally he uncovered a snug tunic, underneath which were makeshift bandages. "We did not have much time after the Templars let us out, she lost consciousness on the way here. I went through the cabinets down- and upstairs, and used some of the salves I had found but the house must have been raided while we were fighting, half of Hawke's usual medicine is gone, I-"

"Why didn't you say anything when we were going out of the Gallows?" Anders whispered, stumbling forward. Hawke's side was crimson red, the bandage was leaking. "Why didn't she say anything?"

Fenris did not answer. Instead, he started to rock his knees gently, trying to soothe Hawke as she moaned in pain; he was now unbuckling the back of the armour, jostling her injured side. "I know it hurts, I know, I am so sorry," he muttered in a strained voice, his throat clenched shut, "I am so sorry Hawke, it will be alright, it will be alright, I am so sorry, I know-" he quickly twisted his arm around her, tugging the centrepiece free from the sleeves as they were to remain on her. She gasped a broken sob, not waking up. His eyes stung as he looked down at the grimace of pain etched into her face and run a cautious hand gently over her forehead, the cold sweat on her brow clinging to his skin.

"As for the answer to your question, mage" Fenris said loudly, not bothering to look at the man as he set the armour down on the stones, "you run away as soon as we landed ashore and the rest of our merry band dispatched just as quickly." He tried not to sound bitter, he did but there was an ache behind his heart, quick pricks of a needle he could not shake away. He barked a humourless laughter, heavy heaving that did not dispatch the pain away. He glanced back at Anders, at the knitted brows of the man and the guilt he could almost see spilling down the mage's whole hunched silhouette. He shrugged his shoulders, smiling down at Hawke's unconscious form, "She collapsed inside the boat for the first time, and nobody seemed to think about waiting on us as the city burned."

 

He grimaced at the memory, at the shock of calling out to them but having nobody stop, nobody help them. He knew that people were fickle, he came not to expect much from anybody. But he had hoped, he had hoped that all the years in Kirkwall were a breakthrough, that it might be different. That the people he met there were a different sort from the menaces, dirty liars and cheaters he had met along the roads since his escape. But as the wind howled as they made their way across the passage, as Hawke and the others trembled from the cold on the boat smacked by unruly waves, Fenris knew there would be no happy end to this tale of a band of misfits. This was the end of their mutual trust and a shared path. The city and the dream of comradeship were dying,

_They were the last ones to come ashore, as people rushed ahead in a flair of voices, and tattered rugs, and the clink of armour. He was getting out of the boat, his trousers soaked with blood and salty water when he heard the tumble and Hawke's grunt of pain. He called out to her, rushing to her side but she just looked at him, as if he was not there, as if she could only look through him, covered in blood, and grim, and some slime like the rest of them. She mumbled something, gesturing weakly at her side as she collapsed into his arms like a ton of bricks. And Fenris looked wildly around, feeling his heart leap to his throat as he felt warm blood seep through her clothes, tainting his hands, the stench unmistakable._

_"Hawke is down!" He called out to the others, dragging her out of the boat onto the harbour, onto the paved streets of Lowtown. But apart from the refugees and some hunched silhouettes running to and fro, hiding in shadows, there was no one there. There were no dwarves, no elves, no woman in armour or a man in robes. "Anders! Bethany! Varric! Aveline! Merrill!" He shouted again, supporting Hawke with his shoulder and a hand on her waist to keep her upright, spinning them around to look for any friendly face. This was bad, this was really bad._

_The mage was obviously gone, as he had expected him to be as soon as the passage out of the city was clear and Templar bodies littered the streets. The blood mage disappeared for the better. Varric however, or Aveline or even Bethany no, he did not envision them leaving Hawke behind like that. They did not owe him anything, even if he came to like them, he did not expect true loyalty at any point. But Hawke? Hawke who was struggling to breath, who had just lain between oars with an ashen white face? Hawke who was bleeding like a pig being readied for a festival? Was that what she got for all that she had done for each and all of them? Was this how it was going to end?_

_Fernis' scowl darkened, as he remember scrambling through the empty streets with unconscious Hawke, struggling to move over the stairs with her weight at his arm and his own wounds aching, reopening, itching. He had to resort to carrying her on his back, hunched over so that she would not tumble back, her legs resting over his bent elbows as he hurried to Hightown groaning, and stopping every other corner to rest like an old man. He knew that time was of the essence and the sooner they got some bandages and any medicine, the better. He nearly fell through the door when they finally came to stand before Hawke's mansion, the door busted open. Good thing the looters concentrated on books, antiques and other possessions either of them could care less about now that the war began and it was not safe to stay in Kirkwall for long anyway. Medicine was mostly there, the most expensive stuff gone but there were a few things he could use. He run around the place, picking bedding to shred for more bandages, getting water into a basin. He tried to dress Hawke's wound as efficiently and painlessly as possible but she still woke up a few times, screaming in agony as his fingers prodded, sanitized and pressed herbs onto the wound. When she woke up coherent enough to actually look at him and ask what was going on, he gave her some sleep potions she gladly accepted._

_Only then, with her soundly asleep and tucked into his side, was he finally able to actually check himself and patch the worst of it._

 

Anders did not retort as Fenris expected him to. He kept staring at Hawke's face and rather felt than saw the man coming closer and finally sitting down beside them on the bench with a groan. He looked up, as Anders brought his own hand and cupped Hawke's cheek. He chanted a few phrases, and some colour began to reappear on her pale face. The mage had his brows furrowed in deep concentration, the blood still dripping down his own temple onto his robes. "I'm sorry," he whispered suddenly, breaking the slew of phrases in a tongue Fenris did not understand. He looked at the man beside him, not feeling any of the rightful anger he had thought he would when Hawke was barely breathing, slipping though his grasp mere hours ago. He felt oddly empty instead, tired from all the stresses of the day and the physical strain he had to endure. Anders continued to speak, brushing Hawke's forehead with his hand, "I thought the others would stay with you, I thought it would be better for you not to see me again. I am so sorry, I've messed up so much today."

"Yes, you have" Fenris agreed without venom, just for the sake of it. He might have felt some sympathy for the mage at the start of the battle, as he stood beside Hawke and swore he would follow her anywhere. He did not want to fight for Anders however. He wanted to shield Hawke and by extension, Bethany. Family, even if with magical ties. Sometimes, he wondered if it could have been their life, his and Varania's if they were not taken into slavery. Would he be like Hawke, guarding his blood from the reach of the Templars or the Chantry or whatever evil magister who would like to take her as an apprentice? Would he have understood magic rather than feared it? Would it have been a blessing instead of a curse in his life? He did the fighting for Hawke and Bethany. And even if perhaps he did agree with the method, with the principle and the allegory to his own life, it did not mean he agreed with Anders on anything else.

The man nodded, taking his hand away. He moved back, standing by Fenris' knees to have a look at Hawke's still covered stomach. He tsked, checking his pockets, "Normally I would have you cut through the whole thing as it's already soaked," he motioned for Fenris to unravel the material, "but I guess we do not have much of a choice what with the looters and all the casualties." He now had an opened, small ceramic box in his hand. There was a thick, greyish salve inside, its consistency similar to that of a mush. Fenris looked at it for a moment, hoping it would stop the wound from being infected.

Luckily the makeshift bandage was well put; both the tunic and the material came off much easier than the armour, and with much fewer gasps of pain from Hawke or strings of curses from Fenris. Fenris brought his left arm over Hawke's chest, covering her bare breasts and he felt Anders' eyes follow the movement hungrily. He chose to ignore it for the moment, deciding that Hawke's state was more important than jealousy. The mage was a medic in the end, no matter how much he loathed the thought of him gawking over her, it could not be helped now.

"I'm actually impressed" Anders said without a hint of sarcasm as he stood over them both, peering down at Hawke's flesh. Fenris looked at him, his brows shooting up his forehead; he nodded at the praise nevertheless. The herbal compress saved the skin from sticking to the bandage but the wound itself was angry red, still seeping blood. "Okay, there is some tainting around but nothing too bad. You used elfroot powder, correct? Yeah, it should start healing in a few days at most."

Fenris observed in silence as Anders took a gallop of the salve, muttering something to himself. He worked the mush between his fingers, thick strains of it becoming transparent in the moonlight. "Here" he extended his soiled hand towards Fenris who looked at him with a sour expression, flickering his eyes between the hand and Anders's face. The mage smirked, "What? I can't crouch now, remember?"

"Oh, for the love of-" Fenris groaned, rolling his eyes. He fidgeted in his seat, adjusting his grip on Hawke. He could feel her breasts jiggle as he reached over her, grabbed Anders' hand rather forcefully with one of his own, and smeared the stuff onto and between his fingers. At least the salve did not smell like he half expected it to.

"Apply it in a circle round the whole outline of the wound. It should stop the swelling from spreading" Anders instructed, running the grey remains over his own forehead and neck. The bleeding from his temple ceased as soon as his fingers touched the wound there.

Fenris glared at him, generously spreading the cold mush on Hawke's side and some of the deeper cuts littering her body. Why has he not given them such salves before the battle if it could stop bleeding so readily? All they had were useless tonics and poisons, and not enough elfroot potions. He run out of them halfway through the battle anyway, as had the rest of them. Stupid useless mages and their absolute trust in their healing magic. Speaking of which, actually...

 

The mush squealed pitifully as Fenris squeezed his fist shut, still draped over Hawke like a blanket, and bent awkwardly at his waist, her hand pointing lifelessly to the floor. His eyes were two green slits. "Why are you not healing Hawke with your magic?"

Anders froze with a hand running through his hair. He looked as if he had been slapped. "Excuse me?"

"Is Hawke's life not good enough for your healing powers now that you are free?" Fenris asked. Oh, how he wanted to slap that damned mage across his ridiculous face. Or at least break his nose. He wanted to do it so many times already but never before had he been so repulsed by this excuse of a human. He shushed Hawke's quiet protests as he cradled her against himself, shielding her nakedness from those lecherous eyes that gaped at him as if he was the one who betrayed them.

He should have known letting Anders in was a bad idea from the start. He should not have trusted him, he should have known better than to believe he would help Hawke just for the sake of helping her, never him, not even them, but her. Her alone. Not her flesh, not her affection, but her as Hawke. Hawke who was Fenris', just as he was hers. He should have known better, he thought bitterly, he should have known better than to believe people here were any different than Tevinters.

"What _the_ _fuck_ do you mean by that?" Anders demanded, his face starting to glow unnaturally. Vengeance was threatening to break through the seams of his features, to spill over, as the mage stalked back, limping, and drew himself to his full height.

Fenris looked back at the man, his glare not wavering. "You heard me," he felt like spitting the word onto the stone floor, for it to shatter and break, "mage." He cocked his head to the side, Hawke's own lolling back into the crook of his neck. Anders' eyes, shining blue and distant even though he stood only a few feet from them, followed the movement, turning dark with anger.

"You talk of things you could never understand-" he began, only to be interrupted by Fenris' snort of disdain.

"Really?" he barked back at Anders. His body tensed up, ready more than ever to fight back if the need arose. This filthy man, this filthy little human thought of himself to be so mighty and wise. And yet there they were, crossed by desires, by unspoken things that never actually surfaced during their merry reign over Kirkwall. Or maybe they did but it was Hawke who made sense of it all, not they themselves. And now she was in pain and they were bickering, trying to prove who was worthy, who won in the end. Fenris knew it was probably petty but he did not care. Not anymore.

 

Then, by some lucky intervention, Hawke moaned in her sleep and started wiggling, actually pushing against him. He did not bother looking at Anders but knew the man was itching to come closer, to be the first thing Hawke would see. Over his dead body.

"Hey" he said gently instead, reaching out to brush some of the stray hair away from her sweaty forehead. He picked up the tunic discarded previously on the floor and draped it over her chest, finally shielding her wounds.

Hawke blinked at him owlishly, her green eyes unfocused and brown hair laid out like a halo over his lap. Then, like a small child she brought up a fist to scratch at her dried out eyelids; he thought he would have laughed at the gesture in any different circumstances. "Hey to you, too" she croaked at last, a lazy smile tugging at her lopsided lip. "Doing the rescue this time?"

"I try." He smiled back, looking her over. Her face was still rather pale, with the exception of a slight rosy tint to her cheeks. There was also some lingering cold sweat on her brow, but it was better than the fever she had had when they tumbled into the mansion in the first place. "How do you feel?" He asked, gently cupping her face with his palm.

"Weak-" Hawke tried to shrug but hissed in pain as her muscles flexed. Instinctively, he brought his forehead down to hers. She relaxed momentarily, and he closed his eyes, breathing in that lingering smell of soap and herbs of hers, "It will be alright, Hawke. We will make it."

They remained like that for a moment before there was a loud cough. Fenris felt like rolling his eyes again but he obliged Hawke, who jumped in his grasp at the noise, and nearly bumped their foreheads together.

"I AM still here, you know." Anders' annoyed voice sounded like that of a cat whose fish had been taken away at the last possible moment, leaving it hungry, neglected and therefore utterly miserable. In summary, it was exactly what he usually sounded like, anyway.

Fenris ignored him for the moment, helping Hawke sit up. Propped against the back of the bench, with the tunic's sleeves loosely tied in a knot behind her back, her skin covered in a mixture of mud, blood and sweat, and her hair all over the place, Hawke looked more than dishevelled but not as miserable as one would have expected. She squinted at Anders, silent.

"What?" the man asked, fidgeting under her gaze. Fenris draped his arm over her back in order to steady her and he enjoyed the way the small gesture made Anders squirm. There was no sign of Vengeance threatening to take over anymore, the mage's features back to normal, at least now that Hawke awoke at last. Fenris was sure however, that the discussion was far from being resolved.

"Why are you here, Anders?" Hawke asked sourly, scrunching up her eyebrows. She did not sound angry. Disappointed, perhaps. Fenris looked over at her, tearing his eyes from Anders' confused expression. She rested her chin on her fist, head cocked slightly to the side. "I thought you wanted to run away, start life anew. Why are you still in Kirkwall?"

"He helped with your wound, actually" Fenris muttered, earning a wide-eyed look from Hawke.

"You didn't look for him to come and patch me up, right?" she asked, something anxious in her eyes. "Why is he here? Where's everyone?"

Fenris looked at her, not knowing what to reply. She tugged restlessly at his sleeve when he remained silent for a long moment, wrangling his free hand awkwardly in his lap. "What's the matter?" she urged, trying to catch his eye as he glanced at Anders who was just as speechless. She looked between them both, turning her head to and fro, "Where is everyone, Fenris? Where is Bethany?"

He sighed, taking her hands into his. He stared at her bruised knuckles, at the dirty, broken fingernails that were rarely actually seen as she tended to wear her trusty gloves everywhere. He wanted to break it gently to her, maybe it was all a misunderstanding in the end, maybe the rest would come for them soon to vacate the city together? Maybe they went to regroup and just forgot to check on them in the heat of the battle's aftermath? There were so many questions in his head, and he had no idea what to say. There was already so much on Hawke's shoulders. On the other hand, she deserved to know the situation more than anyone else.

"I don't know." Fenris looked up at her at last, Hawke's eye fixed on his face. He squeezed her hands, and continued, "I went back to help you up, when we came ashore there was no one there. I brought you to the mansion to get some medicine, I- I had nothing to clean your wound with-" he glanced at Anders who still stood hunched over his staff, his eyes set downcast, "the mage came here only an hour or so ago."

She stared at him as if he had grown two heads, "What do you mean there was no one there?" she turned back to Anders, frowning and her lips set into one tight line, "What does he mean by that, do you know?"

The mage fidgeted, his brows furrowed. "I didn't want to be a burden on you," his voice trembled as he still refused to meet her eye, "you already did more than I could ever repay you, I-"

"Where is everyone, Anders?" Hawke asked slowly, ignoring his fevered words. She looked around the hall, the staff in his hand, the daggers strewn on the stones, her armour laying at their feet and the bench they were sitting on at the moment. Her brows furrowed, a deep wrinkle cutting through the centre of her forehead, "Where is Bethany?"

Anders sighed deeply, massaging his brows with a grimace, "She probably run to the remaining apprentices, there were still a couple left after Orsino betrayed us." He clunked his staff, limping forward, Hawke's eyes not leaving his, "I don't know about the rest. I run before any of you could stop me."

"Then why did you come here? Did you come to rob the mansion?" She glared at him, her head defiantly arched up as he came to a stop in front of them, "Is that why you are here, are we an obstacle to another genius plan of yours?"

"No." Anders tilted his head, staring down at both of them, the hand not clutching the staff bailing into a fist at his side, "I- I didn't know you thought so little of me."

Hawke's jaw tensed, and she squeezed Fenris' hand to the point of pain. "Don't tell me what to think" she whispered, and if Fenris did not feel the slight trembling of her frame, the jostling moving his own side at which he squeezed her hand even harder, he would have been happy. Happy that Hawke was finally seeing what he himself saw so many years ago. Happy that perhaps things would be better at last. But if it meant Hawke being in pain, living through betrayal, it was a bittersweet victory at best.

He touched their entwined hands. Hawke glanced at him, her eyes like two lumps of ice. One of her eyelids was actually twitching.

She shook her head before he managed to say anything, and inclined it at Anders. She stared at him for a moment without a word, sighing finally, "Okay, what do you want then, Master Disaster?" The mage jerked at the nickname but a hopeful expression lightened his features. Hawke smiled sourly, grimacing at the pain as she settled more comfortably against Fenris. "You could have killed us the moment you came through the door, so you obviously have other things in mind."

Anders muttered tentatively, his shoulders straightening, "I want to help. We both, I mean, the three of us can help each other."

Hawke raised a brow at his obvious slip of tongue. "Help do what?"

"Escape from here," Anders continued, his old self shining for a brief moment in the first genuine smile he cracked that night, "I knew you would be too weak to leave on your own. I used up all my potions and can't do much on my own either. And the more, the merrier, right? Strength in numbers," he extended his right hand towards Hawke, as if to strike a truce, "or something like that, yeah?"

"I should have known-" Fenris breathed, but Hawke nudged him, her eyes set on the offered hand. The mage was smiling, trying to reassure her despite everything but there was not much to bargain with. They would not make it alone. Not in Hawke's state and not Fenris' own.

And if they refused him now, it would be either the mage's fury or the Templars. They did need Anders as much as he needed them.

Hawke understood it as well. She kept her head bowed down, thinking and finally shook Anders' bloodied palm. He smiled as if he won a thousand sovereigns and Fenris winced at how forced Hawke's own expression of delight was.

"There's a cache with Bethany's lyrium potions upstairs" Hawke muttered after they parted, trying to stand up, trying to be useful but Fenris kept her on the bench. She flashed him an annoyed smirk, and then motioned at Anders, "go get them and start healing us. We can't stay here long."

"Finally someone who understands" the mage said warmly, nodding his head. "Thank you, you will not regret this" he added, making his way slowly through the mansion, his staff clinking loudly in the empty building.

 

Hawke muttered to Fenris, well out of Anders' earshot, as she looked at his retreating back, "To be honest, I already am."


	2. Trust not a horse's heel nor a dog's tooth

2. ** _Trust not a horse's heel nor a dog's tooth._**

 

Hawke smells like leather and dried flowers. She sleeps right beside him, tangled in furs and linen, her hair splayed out on the pillow. Her breathing is calmer, more even as her breast moves in a rhythm maintained by Fenris’ own heartbeat.

The room is barren as he looks around himself, eyes still bleary with sleep. After Anders marched inside, happy as one can be after Hawke agreed for him to accompany them in their escape from Kirkwall, he and Hawke started to pack whatever they could use while the mage went through medical supplies left. Without Bodahn and Sandal to watch over the mansion, it had been ransacked through just like they thought. Glass had been smashed in cupboards, shelves hung limply from walls and feathers lay in a disarray around punctured pillows.

Fenris was very glad they have been able to find as much as they did.

Now there are three fat rucksacks, packed till their seams started creaking menacingly, propped against the wall, two smaller bags right beside them. Anders can be heard busying himself downstairs, sometimes exclaiming loudly as he preps additional salves or organizes dry ingredients for future use.

 

“I’m scared” Fenris mutters, inclining his head at Hawke, turning back but not fully. He knows she is awake, has been for some time now. Her hand is warm on his shoulder, like a stray ray of sunshine, delicately pulling him towards her as he comes back amongst the furs and warmth of the bed.

“Me too” Hawke whispers, her voice breaking as she clears her throat, grimacing. Her arms are heavy around him, gathering him close and Fenris willingly drifts away for the moment, willingly closes his eyes and just breathes in. Slowly, slowly, slowly. In and out.

“I don’t trust him,” she mutters into his hair at some point, warm breath ghosting over his forehead as he embraces Hawke closer, careful of her wounds. He looks up at her face, at the worry lines encircling her eyes with violet shadows and Hawke looks down at him, brows scrunched up as she continues, “I don’t know him anymore. Have I ever known him at all?”

Her eyes soften the longer Fenris looks into them.  She finally closes them when he trails a hand up her cheek, caressing it. “Don’t blame yourself.” He says simply and she smiles that broken slanted smile he started seeing after Leandra died.

“We have to look out” she chokes at the words, tensing her jaw as she squeezes the hand still cupping her cheek. “We cannot let- we cannot have The Chantry business all over again.”

“We won’t.”

“We’ll kill him if he tries anything.” There is finality to her words as she arches her head away from him to look at the door leading to the corridor and stairs, to warn Anders of his impending doom perhaps, even though he would not be able to hear the words.

And Fenris just nods, laying a weary head on her breast, because this is not what he envisioned once for Hawke and himself. None of this is.

 

 

They come downstairs an hour later or so, clad once again in armour and travelling cloaks. Anders is on his feet, running amongst the shelves of the storage, checking if everything relevant has been already taken.

He is eager to please, Fenris knows it as he comes to stand by the door, but at least this time Ander’s fevered behaviour could be actually useful for once.

“Good thing you’ve sorted out your leg,” Hawke swaggers into the room behind him, her eyes empty but smile shining in the lone light of the oil lamp, “would be a shame if you got trampled the first minute we come out of Kirkwall”.

Anders freezes at her words and flashes a shy smile of his own. “Good thing you still had so many Lyrium potions. Saved me having to mop the floor from my blood all day.”

“And we wouldn’t like that, now would we.” Hawke says brightly, brushing past him with rucksacks gripped tightly in both of her hands. She tries to make herself look busy for a moment, with Anders’ eyes drilling into her back, and finally drifts away to the kitchen, stomping through the empty halls, “Maybe Bodahn left something behind, get ready for marching out.”

Fenris stays behind, poised beside Anders, “What do you want me to do with these?” He asks, inclining his head at bunches of dried herbs still laying on the table, lavender’s and chamomile’s smell nauseating in the small room. Anders does not answer, his body still turned towards the exit Hawke took.

“Is this how’s going to be?” he mutters, maybe more to himself than Fenris, but he still hears every word. Anders looks small all of the sudden, small and sad in his feathered robes and with his funny, straw-blond ponytail, and Fenris knows, he knows that it must hurt but this is his fault in the end. It is his fault, his choices made it all this difficult.

“Better watch what you are doing from now on” Fenris says softly. Anders looks at him fleetingly, his expression blank as Fenris taps his own neck, slowly moving his fingers in a circle till their draw an invisible noose around his throat. “Don’t say I never warned you.”

Anders chuckles, a heavy breath and a few mirthless noises, “You’ve never even pretended to like me. That’s the only respectable thing in you.” He stares down at his hands, picking at a stray thread protruding from his frayed sleeve. “Not pretending.”

“I don’t pity you. I never will, so stop your hysteria.” Fenris steadies himself by the doorframe. “Your gloom has cost lives,” he crosses his arms as the mage starts pacing anew, busying himself from listening, “actual lives, Anders! Do you not understand?”

“I know what I did” Anders mutters, running fingers through his greasy hair as he stops in front of a shelf, looking over the few left jars. He takes a deep breath before turning around, looking Fenris in the eye as he repeats, “I know what I did.”

“Do you?” Fenris stares him down, clenching his teeth so hard that his jaw aches, “Do you think Hawke believes that?”

“Shut up, just, just- _SHUT_. _UP_!” The mage throws one of the jars at him, Fenris easily sidestepping the throw and glass breaks into a myriad of pieces on the wall centimetres away from his head.

He curls his lip at Anders who is breathing heavily through his nose, his face becoming more blotchy pink the more he looks at him. “I will not let you blame us for this” Fenris utters softly, trying to shush the constant thumping of his heart in his ears. The mage’s eyes flicker icy blue at his words but Fenris urges himself to calm down, to let him bite his hand instead of Hawke’s.

He takes out one of Hawke’s daggers, its curved blade shining coldly in the lamp’s light as Fenris sticks it out in front of him. “Don’t you dare try to blame her, don’t even think about it.”

Anders’ face pales at this, his angry expression crumbling as his eyes dart away to the corridor. Fenris has the urge to turn around and see if maybe Hawke has come back, but the moment tears start streaming down the mage’s face and he starts actually sobbing, he forgets about it. It is tough to look at Anders as he kneels and just cries, big fat tears of sorrow falling, his face not shadowed, nor hidden away by a hand or elbow. Fenris has always known the man to be much more free-spirited, more open about emotions and dreams than he was but this was… Different altogether.

He feels a pang of guilt as the man sobs louder, now digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Fenris sheaths the weapon and conceals it in his boot. There are more sorrows ahead of them anyway, there are so many more difficulties and broken dreams ahead of them that this is no catastrophe by its own. Let him cry, for all the dreams he has closed on himself. Let him cry over the lives already broken and destroyed. Let him cry over the incoming war.

He opens his mouth to tell Anders to be ready in an hour to march, like Hawke has told them to, but thinks better of it. Instead, he slips away without a word, the sobs and the sound of glass breaking accompanying his lonely steps through the dark corridor.

 

 

Hawke has actually found additional food, dried meat and stale pies left in a concealed cupboard. They eat, waiting for Anders to finish taking his bearings and the silence is golden.

They hold hands under the table when he comes into the kitchen at last, eyes red-rimmed and lips puffy. He has a bundle dangling over his shoulder, one that smells faintly of herbs, and he sets it by his feet as he sits down opposite of them. They eat and drink, and once done, scan the location for any goods one last time.

 

 

“I thought we would be living here till we die,” Hawke says quietly, her eyes downcast and shoulders hunched as they step outside into the milky dusk. She carries two rucksacks on her back, straight and mighty like a tree but her step is not springy as she looks at the emblem by the door, the heralding shield slashed at and the red markings torn. “Old and grumpy, and all too close to the Chantry.”

“And to Danarius’ old mansion.” Fenris embraces her, still ever so careful of her ribs, and he sets his head on top of her shoulder. She moves hers so that their hair touch. “I thought our children would play here,” he mutters bitterly, thinking how hard it is to be actually letting go of all of this. All the hopes, all the plans and schemes destroyed in such a short span of time.

Why everything that was so good, had to last for such a short while?

“Will we ever dream again like that?” Hawke breathes, her frame shaking in a silent sob, as her voice hitches like back in the bedroom. Her old bedroom. Their old bedroom. Once-upon-a-time, Hawke’s mansion’s bedroom. Hawke’s mansion’s in Kirkwall bedroom. “Because I don’t know, Fenris, I just don’t know, if we will ever be able to.”

“Neither do I, Hawke. But we can try.”

She turns in his embrace, facing him with that amused expression of hers, one brow quirked and a smile playing just at the corner of her mouth. “We can,” she hooks her own arm around him, bringing their bodies closer till they are jointed at the hips, “and we will.”

“Anywhere you want.” Fenris plants a kiss on top of her nose, quick and more playful than many others they have shared before, and he knows, he knows that this memory is going to be the one he will hang onto in the future, one of the most bitter-sweet he has made so far. “Anywhere we come.”

“Anywhere, just so that you are there with me.” Hawke breaths with half-lidded eyes, kissing him back on the corner of his own smile, hot and weary but so precious in that one exact moment. Her eyes shine anew as they cling to each other for a long moment in the misty air of the morning, the grim of the battle all around them and the streets eerily silent with so many people already gone.

If they were not on the run in that exact time, Fenris would have thought that this is what books should be written about, the silly stories and epochs Varric so loved to talk about. This was the material legends were woven from.


End file.
